How I found my favourite place in the Med ... Algeria :
Her new book took Carol Drinkwater on an epic journey around the Med, but she found the warmest welcome in north Africa.
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| The beauty and silence of the Sahara is intoxicating. Photograph: Alamy. |
Algeria does not court tourism. It doesn't need to. It has vast crude-oil resources, equal to Libya's. Its infrastructure does not accommodate tourists, and there is precious little visitor information - hardly any in English. The French, of course, have a longstanding relationship with the country.
Harsh colonisation, a very bloody independence war and lingering withdrawal caused a rift that is only now healing, and slowly at that.
The descendents of that French imperialism, pilgrims to the homeland of their pied-noir kinsfolk, are the vanguard of Algeria's tourism. Some Italians visit the Christian sites of St Augustine. Few others venture here. Algeria, the largest country in Africa, has been dogged by terrorism. But while dangers remain, they are far outweighed by the hospitality of the people.
I was visiting Algeria not as a tourist, but as one on a quest: researching the history of the olive tree for my latest book. As a woman alone in this undeveloped Islam-dominated country, I was apprehensive. A sound knowledge of French stood me in good stead, facilitating travel arrangements and communication, but if yours is not up to scratch, don't be disheartened. Algeria is striving to shrug off its French connections, and the young are learning the Anglo-American of the internet.
Also, a substantial percentage of the country's inhabitants are tribal Berbers, with their own dialects and identities. They converted to Islam in the seventh century but consider themselves Berbers first and Algerians second. I was surprised how keen they were to interact with the West, share their culture and be accepted into the international community. Berbers are historically nomadic people, well practised in the art of hospitality. Many of the most generous human beings I encountered on my 16-month odyssey round the Mediterranean were Algerians.
I began with the Unesco World Heritage Site of Tipasa, 60km west of the capital, Algiers. Founded by the Phoenicians, it was transformed into a military colony by the Romans. Today, it is a glorious stone forest of tumbled walls and columns spilling across a trio of hills that crown the crescent round the Bay of Tipasa.
Visible in the distance are the humped shoulders of the Chenoua mountains. Enchanting, wave-lapped, modern Tipasa sits on the Mediterranean. It has a French feel and is known for its open-mindedness. Several of its outdoor restaurants and bars serve alcohol. It may be surprising to learn now, but Algeria is one of the oldest wine-producing countries in the world.
It had been raining when I arrived, and the scent of herbs and absinthe hung in the air. The water was a troubled turquoise as it beat fruitlessly against the ancient ruins. I was in the company of an Arab-Algerian historian, listening to his potted history of "a troubled land, a country in transition, seeking its identity" while his daughter gathered wild flowers of startling hues.
Algerian-born writer Albert Camus was fond of this spot and wrote: "In the depths of my darkest winter I found within myself an invincible summer."
The beaches thereabouts were stunning and neighbouring Cherchell, once a twin-harboured Roman city, with mournful statuary in the Place des Martyrs gazing out to sea, was well worth a stop. I headed back east in a series of smoke-belching Mercs - public taxis jam-packed with men in brown djellabahs freighting anything from boxes of tomatoes to a pair of newborn kids. They found me a curious companion but smiled politely, respectfully suggesting I sit up front beside the driver.
Tizi-Ouzou is the capital of Kabylia and makes an excellent base from which to explore these culturally untapped and very beautiful mountains. Conquerors from time immemorial have driven the Berbers inland from their coastal settlements and these mountains have become one of their strongholds. I spent remarkable days in the company of olive farmers and beekeepers. I listened to songs sung in the fields by tattooed women gathering olives. Ideqqi is their clay pottery. Hand-made and fired in the open air, these pieces tell the women's tales. Collectors' treasures, each plate is unique and rarely if ever sold.
From Sétif, a very Muslim city, where there are comfortable hotels and where lies the body of Scipio Africanus, outstanding military commander of ancient Rome, I continued to Timgad (another World Heritage Site) which was bathed in sunlight, and deserted. It was built by the Romans at the end of the first century for keeping an eye on rebellious hill tribes. Buried by sand for centuries, protected by altitude and dry winds, it stands in the middle of nowhere, its network of roads and columns bearing witness to the genius of ancient Rome.
From Timgad I looped back to Djémila, to Constantine, back to the coast at Annaba, where forest-rich mountains sweep dramatically into the sea. The French built upon the Phoenician and, later, Arab port-city and christened it Petit Nice; today it is falling apart at the seams, but oozes seaside charm. Then it was south into the desert, alone with taxi driver, Mohammed, in a boneshaker barely fit to undertake the monumental trip that lay ahead: past St Augustine's birthplace at Souk Ahras (and the olive tree beneath which he meditated) to Tébessa near the Tunisian border and then, off the map.
I found myself entirely alone. Not a guide, not a traveller, no one besides the occasional couple, she swathed in black, canoodling illicitly within the shadows of vast stones or a Berber strolling with his sheep. I came upon colossal Roman offerings not listed in any book. Blown by Saharan winds, sand-cloaked for centuries, they are monuments to oblivion. Off all beaten tracks, I pretended I had discovered these classical jewels myself.
I was obliged to rough it more than a little. Algerians cannot offer what they do not have themselves. Many homes have running water for just an hour a day. In the cities and towns there are hotels, even resorts, and in the southern Sahara, where the rock art is second to none, organised tours are available.
I had not known what to expect. Camels and sand dunes, of course, but the hand-beaten jewellery, the tattooed tribeswomen, the bridges of Constantine, the breathtaking landscapes, the generosity, the fine classical ruins and the silence of the Sahara made this one of the most intoxicating experiences on earth. To see this extraordinary country before tourism imprints, one visit will simply not do.
Carol Drinkwater,The Observer,
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